Bones
by KryntheFae
Summary: Harry shares his ice cream with a lonely mutt that reminds him of Sirius. You'd think that would be all to it, wouldn't you? Come on, this is the 'Chosen One' we're talking about! Harry's adventures in an Parallel Universe. Eventual slash.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** **The Harry Potter Series belongs to JKR, of course, I am merely a humble fan of her work. **

**Bones**

_KryntheFae_

**Chapter 1**

He took a step into the renovated shop, the cool, sweet smells luring him in from the summer heat. The witch behind the corner perked up when she noticed him, the bell tied to the door signaling his arrival.

The shop was by no means empty, which meant a few glanced up at his entrance and looked away - then did a double take.

"Hey, isn't that - "

"Oh _Merlin_."

"I didn't know Lord Potter had a sweet tooth… "

With a barely concealed grimace Harry made his way to the counter. He gave the mint green-haired shopkeep a sincere smile as a greeting.

"Harry! It's good to see you, you're looking well," she winked at him, placing her manicured hands on her aproned hips. "It's about time you paid me a visit. Your handsome face is such a nice respite from the sticky firsties."

"Good to see you again too, Lisella," Harry blushed at the older witches words. "Sorry I haven't been in the shop for quite some time. Been in Ireland for the last couple months."

"Everything alright over in Lucky-Land?" she asked. Harry snorted.

"Yeah," he answered. He adjusted his Auror robes, the collar peeling off his heated skin in a not entirely pleasant fashion. At least the stop was cold. Had to be, or their main product would melt. "We were stuck a bit longer than expected, they had an unreported outbreak of spattergroit. Four of the previously stationed officers had to be isolated and treated away from the first camp."

"Oh, ew." Lisella stuck out her tongue, her freckled face curling in disgust. "Not so lucky after all, ey?" Harry shook his head in bemusement.

"Unfortunately not," he replied softly, the hint of long-time suffering in his breath.

Lisella gave him a sympathetic look. She gestured to the case of delicious frivolities.

"Well don't let me stop you from selecting one of our delicious specials. What'll it be, Savior?" Harry couldn't control his wince at her word choice. Merlin was he ready for people to stop calling him that. It seemed like his past would continue to follow him. Likely even _after_ his death. Oh wait, technically it already had. Ha.

Lisella winced along with him seconds after speaking.

"Ah sorry Harry, forgot you disliked that one."

Harry gave her a conceding smile. Honestly he hated _all _of them, not just 'The Savior of the Wizarding World'. I mean really, they weren't even original.

She grabbed the biggest ice-cream cup they offered, which indeed was quite large, and gestured to the cooler case. "What'll sooth that sweet tooth of yours today, hun?"

"Hmm," Harry hummed, already forgetting the previous_ faux pas _as he took a look at the colorful buckets of ice-cream on display.

Following the last few years after the end of the Second Wizarding War, Florean Fortescue's ice-cream parlour had been reopened after the owner's passing - much to Harry's and surely many other young witches and wizards sincere delight.

Lisella Fortescue - Florean's granddaughter, was the one who managed the joint. Her three younger brothers balanced the shifts and accounting work. She was a spunky, but tender-hearted witch whose oddly colored hair often reminded him of Tonks. She had told him on a previous visit that she'd forgone her last year at Hogwarts to nab the place from her parents, who'd wanted to sell it.

The second the quirky shop had reopened Harry had bee-lined for the Chocolate Raspberry Swirl, flavored with chopped nuts. The nostalgic smile on his careworn, adult face had endeared Lisella to him immediately, who happened to be a couple years older than himself. Harry had grown found of her as well, as Lisella never gave him special treatment because he was 'Harry Potter'. Merely because she thought he was cute - or so she often said!

He now made a point to visit the cheery establishment at least every other week, at his lunch hour. Harry just couldn't resist the haven from his childhood, a place filled almost entirely with happy, simple memories. Such memories were too precious to forget amid the darker ones.

"You know I think I'll go with the French Vanilla this time." Harry pointed to the right tub. The simple, rich creamy texture too inviting to forgo to something of a more complex palate.

"Why, how very _vanilla_ of you Harry," she winked at him again, wrapping up his order immediately.

"What?" Harry gave her a confused look. "Of course. It _is_ vanilla after all."

"Oh you're no fun." She pouted, shaking her head at his childish innocence.

Harry could only raise his eyebrows in bewildered amusement. He stuck the pink plastic spoon she gave him in his mouth, keeping it there with his teeth as he paid her the required knuts - and a few extra galleons.

"Always a pleasure doing business with you," Lisella pocketed the extra coins and gave him a bright, grateful smile. "See you again next week, Harry."

"Goodbye," Harry gave a short wave as he past through the door. Every eye that had watched him purchase his ice-cream followed him as he stepped back into the heat of August, their hungry, curious gaze just as hot on his back as the blazing sun.

He sighed, keeping the spoon in his mouth as he walked through the crowded street, drawing attention here and there but he made no point in stopping. He needed a quiet, cool place to eat his treat. Then back to work.

Unfortunately, he had picked the worst time of day to get his sugar fix.

Diagon Alley was filled to the brim with young, to-be, and current Hogwarts students being escorted by their family, the narrow streets crowded and swollen with people. Making a quick decision Harry pulled the hood of his Auror robes over his head, despite the stifling warmth. Sweat aside, he really didn't want to be detained for questioning and autographs that late afternoon.

Harry used his hand to protect his uncovered ice-cream, deciding muggle London would likely be a better place to enjoy his precious treat. He made his way to The Leaky Cauldron.

Just as he was edging around the last corner of the North Side, a glowing set-up in the window of Flourish and Blotts caught his eye.

Harry stopped dead in his tracks, eyes widening in growing horror.

In the center of the display was a blown up image of himself, outlined in a thick gaudy frame.

A candid shot he'd never seen before, it was of Harry descending a large knotted tree - without magic. In one arm he held a precious boon of thick matted fur.

Harry watched in shocked silence as the 2D hologram of himself placed the plump cat back on the ground, bending down to give it a soft petting.

He remembered that cat. A stray he'd noticed on the way to work who'd climbed up a tree a touch too high. He'd thought of naming it Dr. Mittens and taking it home with him if it hadn't run off the second he released it.

Speaking of.

A tortured sound, much like a dying animal left Harry's lips as he watched a small, sweet smile grace 'Bookcover-Harry's' face as he waved the cat goodbye the animal bounding away without a second glance back at him.

Harry had half a mind to place his ice-cream down in order to barry his flushing face in his hands.

No. No no no. No. NO. Oh gods, he was never going to be able to get over this. Forget the people of significance he worked with, his _friends_ would be taking the micky outta him for the next few decades of holidays.

Glowing paper fairies fluttering around and smiling at possible customers, beckoning them in with their tiny pale hands, turning the pages of the_ book_ as if demonstrating the quality of paper.

There were stacks upon stacks of the shockingly thick volume, placed in and around the bookshop window, each hard-backed in a thick, burgundy velvet. The title was written in a extravagant loopy script of glistening gold ink. The same title was written below the blown up picture himself, the cover, which Harry read with a sickening dread that soured his stomach.

"The Hideously Heroic and Glorious Good Deeds of Lord Harry James Potter. Third Edition"

Harry stared open-mouthed at the gaudy display for quite some time, his pink spoon hanging precariously at the corner of his lips.

"They even put my middle name," Harry whispered. He felt something stagger, flop over and die within him. His pride? Sanity? Any hope to be taken seriously again?

As if sensing his strangled emotions, the weather gave mercy on him, sending a swooping gust down the alley, making some witches cry out as their shortened skirts flew up around them.

The breeze blew past Harry as well, curling and twisting around the birds-nest medium length hair. The sharp coolness was a respite from the heat and Harry's poor, dizzied condition. Unfortunately, in order for the wind to tousle his hair, it first had to remove Harry's hood from his head.

Harry blinked, patting his damp hair with his free hand, understanding reaching him too slow to be of any service.

And then a scene not unlike what had preciously occurred in Florean's happened once more… magnified to a hundred.

"Mum! Mum, it's Harry Potter!"

"Gerald, for goodness sake if I hear you 'Cry Potter' one my time…

His wide, panicked eyes met those of a middle aged witch in a obnoxiously colored hat, topped with what appeared to be a pissed off chipmunk. In one hand was her large sidebag, the other the hand of a small child who looked about eleven.

That brief moment of silence had never been so long - nor so short. A shirek so shrill it rang through the Alley pieced his ears so sharply he thought they might bleed.

"OH MY DEAR SALAZAR, IT _IS_ LORD POTTER! _THE CHOSEN ONE_, OUR _SAVIOR_! GRAB HIM! _GRAB HIM AND GET HIS AUTOGRAPH IT'LL BE WORTH _BILLIONS_!"_

The blood drained from his face.

Seemingly coming back to herself the witch gave him a searching look, a thoughtful frown on her face. She began rummaging through her bag, paying no mind to Harry's stiffening figure as she murmured to herself under her breath.

"Bloody good, what was that hair-cutting spell again, I'm sure a single lock of that thick head of hair would be worth twice - no thrice!"

_"Oh, bloody hell."_

In response to the shriek, many more voices had come to attention - some hushed some just as loud and terrifying ping-ponged all around him. Harry was beginning to feel quite small.

And quite afraid.

"Potter? As in thee, 'Lord Potter'?"

"Fred did you hear that? Why is he _here, _at Diagon Alley?"

"Getting his christmas shopping done early?"

"Perenia said she saw him at that old ice-cream parlor - I didn't think she was telling the _truth_!"

Before he could be stampeded to death by his 'adoring but far too enthusiastic fans' Harry disapparated. The sharp crack echoed despite the now swarming witches and wizards.

Lisella frowned.

The excited hollering and sound of hundreds of feet carousing about the alley had reached all the way back to her little shop, the bell at the door ringing away as the foundation began to shake.

"Oh Harry," she sighed, understanding right away the only reason for such an energy switch in the peaceful alley. "Poor kid can't go anywhere or do _anything_, can he?


	2. Chapter 2

**Bones**

_KryntheFae_

**Disclaimer: The Harry Potter Series belongs to JKR, of course, I am merely a humble fan of her work. **

**Also, super huge thanks to my first reviewer! You made me smile like a fool as I worked on this chapter, I hope it is well received~! **

**Chapter 2**

Much to Harry's desperate relief, he had managed to disappear from the approaching hoard of adoring witches and wizards before one could send a cutting hex anywhere near his precious head of hair.

What Harry _didn't _know was he'd lost his pink spoon just as he'd vanished - the crowd descending on the innocent piece of plastic like a pack of starving wolves… but that's a story for another time.

Unfortunately, the sudden transition from one place to the next hadn't been smooth as he landed hard on his knees, the thin skin bruising beneath his trousers. He groaned, and stumbed to his feet. His boots _clacked_ on hard, paved road. It didn't take long for Harry to figure where he had suddenly relocated himself. The identical strip of houses and close-cut lawns were a dead giveaway.

Privet Drive.

Merlin, he hadn't been there in ages. Not since his seventeenth birthday, he tried to remember how his final goodbye had gone... from what he could piece together, not well. How strange that this was his minds idea of the "to-go" place of freedom from the terrorizing crowds of Diagon Alley.

There was a faint honking noise and Harry looked up, watching as a group of geese flew in a low above him, the sky a clear blue and the air clean, and fresh. A respite to his harried senses. The grass on every lawn was dying from lack of hydration, and the granite sign that introduced the row of houses could use re-lettering.

No, actually. Harry _could_ see why it had been the first place in his mind to run too.

There was a peace about it. An ordinary, unspeakable peace; both familiar and lonely. Memories of his childhood played in his mind, some bad and some not so horrible. Summers as hot as this one spent weeding rose bushes, and weekends spent watching after Mrs. Figg's ridiculous amount of cats…

Speaking of those cats. A tabby with a fuchsia pink collar bolted past him suddenly, crossing the street in a flurry of little paws, the attached bell _tinkling_ along with her movements. Harry watched it barrel it's way through a cat-door installed in one of the grey houses. The road was quiet once more.

'Well it's certainly been awhile, hasn't it?' Harry reflected solemnly, his hand coming up to scratch his head. Tiny pinpricks of spine erupted on his scalp as his fingers stuck to the strands when he tried to pull away.

Harry blinked, and jerked his hand away from his hair. Oh, for the love of!

He looked down at the bent and beaten cup in his fist, the thin plastic not surviving the sudden shift of places as well as he'd hoped. The hand he'd used to protect the uncovered ice-cream was coated in a sticky, melted chill.

"So much for that idea," he grumbled, flicking some of the excess from his fingers. The sun was just as high and unforgiving in Surrey as it was in London, and the large cup was now filled with little more than sweet-smelling liquid goop.

Harry sighed again, frustrated that his afternoon had gone so horribly. He glanced around him, the paved cul-de-sac he stood in was silent as a morgue, the families who lived in the line of houses seemingly all out of the house or asleep, leaving Harry to stare at their doors with nostalgic contemplation.

Without wanting, his hazy green eyes were guided to the Dursley's home, Number 4.

There was no car in the driveway - quite likely, Vernon was at work. Harry squinted, wondering if he could make out Petunia's horse-like face peeking through the lace curtains, pulled tightly closed, as he'd remembered.

A part of Harry wanted to knock on the door and go in. Not to greet his Aunt - oh no, she'd probably turn a horrid shade of puce and demand his immediate extermination, let alone exit. No he just… there was something in him that wanted to check. His old room, the garden he'd spent so many years pruning to perfection.

Perhaps, a short look at the cupboard.

Harry shook his head roughly, a strange sense of not-quite curiosity building. He didn't have time for this he - he needed to get back to _work_. They needed him in on that Kripke lead. He needed to sort through the files, and request the evidence they'd already gathered… really he had so much to do he didn't have time for a jaunt to the past.

But still. Something pulled at him again, a tightness in his chest. The thoughts came, little questions after his childhood he'd never thought to ask. Were the little plastic soldiers he's filched from Dudley's stash of broken toys still sitting in a row under the steps? The thin mattress still crammed in the tiny space? The Gryffindor banners and Quidditch posters Ron had sent him torn from the walls?

Had the Dursley's removed all evidence of Harry from their lives?

He scoffed at the thought, leaning his weight on one foot as he forced his eyes away from the Dursley's home. He wouldn't be surprised if they'd burned every memory of him the second he walked out of the house. It'd been seven long years. For Dumbledore's sake he was almost twenty-four. An adult wizard. A man.

With resolution in his step he turned away. But he didn't leave.

Still.

There was something pulling him to it, the vague, ordinary little house. Harry's eyes sought out the tiles of the roof, each perfectly placed in neat, even rows.

"Did they even remember me?" he wondered aloud, that pulling sensation was beginning to hurt. Remember _Harry_?

He knew he looked different now. His hair was a bit longer, still just as black and ridiculous of course, and his skin wasn't as smooth, not as youthful. He was more careful of his actions, and more matured, stood tall and proper. No longer slouching like a scared little boy.

Stronger.

He couldn't say anything against the fact. He _was_ different. A different person, a different man. Likely unrecognizable to his horrid relatives. They didn't _deserve_ to know this Harry.

And yet…

The burning curiosity continued to build and Harry found his feet leading him to the plainly painted door.

'I really shouldn't be doing this,' Harry thought with a tired frown, feeling years older than he truly was at that moment. He reached out the not-sticky hand to ring the doorbell, listening to the familiar pattern of chimes with apprehension. He half expected his uncle's usual thunder of "Boy!" and a younger, skinnier version of himself to peek from the window down at him, locked in his room.

He wondered if it would be awkward to ask if he could throw his ruined ice-cream in Petunia's trash. He waited for a moment, the lack of response causing stabs of nervous impatience to create little holes in his turning stomach.

Perhaps no one was home? Not entirely unrealistic. Harry studied the door, tried twisting it with his fingers, but it didn't budge. Locked, of course. His relatives were horrible people but not entirely stupid. Sometimes.

Harry was reaching for his wand, when he stopped. A sudden memory making him look around warily. Just because the curtains of most of the houses were pulled closed didn't mean people weren't watching him.

The residents of Privet Drive had always been a nosey bunch.

Just as he was thinking of trying a wand-less _Alohomora, _a loud scratching noise come from behind him.

For an instant Harry thought it might be his uncle pulling up in the driveway. A spasm of anxiety ran down his spine and he closed his eyes, reading himself for…

_For what exactly?_ A barrage of insults? Questions as to why he'd decided to face them with his presence after all those years?

A smack?

His eyes shot open-wide at that errant thought. _Bloody hell_, what was he doing?! Its not like he was a damn kid anymore!

With a steadying gulp of air, Harry made to turn around, fast, he wasn't a coward and

And. He blinked owlishly.

His shoulders dropped from their raised position. All the tension and anxiety leaving him with a rush of air. It wasn't his uncle's car in the driveway.

A dog stood in front of him; a mutt really, with thick matted fur that was too dirty to defer it's natural color. It's large, suspiciously focused blue eyes watched him warily, looking ready to bolt at a moments notice. It swished it's tail nervously beside itself, the long tangled hairs dragging across the gravel.

The crunch he'd heard.

"A dog," Harry breathed, his shoulders beginning to shake as peals of near-hysteric laughter escaped his open mouth. Gods! He'd been on the brink of making himself sick over facing a _dog_! Perhaps Ron had been right, anyone would need therapy after growing up with the Dursley's. The animal flinched at the sudden harsh sounds, ducking its head and flattening its ears to its skull.

He immediately stopped being crazy and shut his mouth, giving the hungry looking creature an apologetic expression. He suddenly felt quite numb, a bit tired. That sensation of the tangibility of his years came back again.

Harry shook his head, he was being foolish, stupid. Indeed, he wasn't a kid anymore, so why was he acting like one? Visiting his _relatives_? What had he been thinking - nothing at all apparently. He released the death-grip he'd had on his wand, and sat on the porch step, uncaring if any neighbors might by spying on him.

He set the ice-cream cup, and why hadn't he gotten rid of the ruined desert yet, either, he had no damn idea; he'd woken up a complete idiot that morning, next to him. Harry tipped his head back, admiring the Dursley's porch light as he took a breath of the clean air, far from the pollution of the city. A low whine interrupted his thoughts and Harry tilted his chin to stare at the stray who still sat a few feet from him. It hadn't run off yet.

"Hey boy," Harry said soothingly, offering a hand. It blinked at him and padded forward with interest, its bright eyes targeting his palm with a worrying intensity.

Harry noticed the out-streched hand was the sticky one and cursed, holding it away from his work robes as he fumbled for his wand with his left. Unnoticed, the dog crept closer still till it was right beside him.

_"WOOF!"_ The crisp bark next to his sensitive ears made him flinch to attention, breaking the silence of the Drive. And then his fist was surrounded in a wet, warm cocoon.

The dog had essentially swallowed his hand, it's sharp teeth digging into his palm, not causing pain, but _noticeable. _The beasts jaws kept its prize trapped as it used a large, leathery tongue to lick at the remnants of Harry's ice-cream.

"Er," Harry said, going still.

He was frozen in shock. The dog blinked it's clear eyes, almost clever as they watched his reaction. Harry could only swallow the lump in his throat. Was this the part when Harry Potter lost his want hand to a previously-thought harmless stray dog?

Hermione Weasley heaved a heavy sigh, filled with annoyed wariness and exasperated love, balancing a baby on one hip and a a large paper box on her other. The pins keeping her thick curls out of her face were starting to slip.

"Ronald! Your mother sent us another package!" she called, trying not to drop either of the precious boons from her strained arms. Although if she had too, Mrs. Weasley's homemade treats would have to survive their trip to the floor - no matter how delicious her huckleberry scones were.

"Sorry Mione'!" Her husband returned, leaping down the stairs, his long legs allowing him to skip three at a time. She pursed her lips, wishing he'd be so enthusiastic when Rose needed a changing. He grabbed the package of food of course she internally huffed, and walked over to the kitchen. Hermione followed, adjusting the baby to a better position.

"Was just trying to firewall Harry," Ron explained, grabbing a couple glasses from their muggle manufactured fridge, and pouring them each a serving of milk. "Malfoy said he never turned up after his lunch hour apparently. The pointy git was getting all huffy just talking about Harry, you'd think he'd be over the stupid rivalry thing they had going in school. It's been _years_." He stuck his hand in the box of goodies, withdrawing a canister of what appeared to be peanut butter biscuits with a joyful cheer.

Hermione shook her head with a silent sigh, watching her husband dig in.

'Like you're one to talk, Ron,' she wanted to say out loud but held her tongue. Instead, she stole a biscuit before they disappeared entirely. Her mind started to wander at his words, making her chews slow and thoughtful. It wasn't like the black-haired boy to be tardy - he was more responsible than that. And loved his job.

"You don't think he got into trouble, our Harry, do you?" Hermione asked, dread and worry, a stormy mass filling her instantly. Her lashes might have even wetted. Goddamn hormones.

Ron gave her a knowing look.

"Oh come on love, this is Harry we're talking about," Ron said, digging for the largest biscuit of the bunch, stuffing it in his mouth as soon as he found the right one.

"Exactly." She raised an eyebrow. "As in _Harry_."

"But he's '_The_ _Vanquisher of Volde-bits', _remember?" He wiggled his crumb coated fingers at Hermione, making her scowl and protect their child from the onslaught. Ron immediately looked reproved, and stood to press a kiss to their sleeping daughter's forehead.

"I'm sure he's fine, probably got caught up with the crowds. Poor guy's more popular now than ever," he continued in a softer tone, looking into her eyes and wrapping an arm around her shoulders in an effort to be comforting.

Where there might have been a hint of jealousy before the war, there was now only honest commiseration. A sentiment Hermione clearly echoed. Harry was something of a celebrity, almost _royalty _with how he was treated these days.

She hated seeing his sweet, uncomfortable face with every event he was forced to go to, looking utterly miserable and ready to flee in those horrid, stiff dress-robes.

His chosen profession had been a bit of a break from the media at least, sending him to different spots across the country, and sometimes even abroad. Even then, the Ministry and the Wizarding population seemed hard-put on not relinquishing their prying claws from his shoulders, always finding some reason or other to bring him back to the light, push him onto their pedestal so that they might admire him closer. And Harry, quite obviously, hated even second of it.

"Oh! I almost forgot," Ron cried suddenly, spooking her from her rambling thoughts. Hermione softly touched Rose's cheek to see if his father's insensitive shout had woken the little one. It hadn't. She turned back around to watch Ron rummaging through the pocket of his Auror's robes. There was a brief sound of accomplishment as he lifted his prize from the dense pockets.

What he had in his hand was the last thing Hermione would ever expect the man to pull from his robes.

A book.

"Saw this in the window up at Blott's, and had to pick it up. It's the reason I dropped by this afternoon for lunch," Ron explained, sounding equal parts amused and completely disgusted. That peaked her interest. The curious little bookworm in her was excited to see what could have intrigued Ron enough to purchase a book _voluntarily_.

Then she saw the cover.

"Oh Merlin, _no_," Hermione said, grabbing the thick tome from his hands with her free one. It was bound in a rich, burgundy velvet, the ridiculous title standing out in glittering gold ink.

She felt a touch guilty as her heart swelled watching the cover picture play out, having to make effort to keep the adoring smile from consuming her face. She all but pushed the book back into Ron's arms making him scrabble to catch it. She frowned deeply, knowing what this would mean for Harry.

"He might actually die from embarrassment with this one," Hermione fretted, the baby at her side starting awake with a high-pitched cry.

Startled, Harry tried to scoot back and immediately regretted it, as his hand was obviously not following along with the rest of him. The mutt started to growl low it its throat, the vibrations rolling up his arm.

"Um, good dog?" Harry said, trying not to sound like he was going to cry. Cause he obviously wasn't - he just didn't take potential amputation well - specially his own. He thought of casting a mild stinging hex it to try and make it release him, but the second the thought crossed his mind he instantly new he couldn't. He didn't like causing innocent things pain. And it hadn't really hurt him. Yet.

It seemed his fears were for not, however, as after a few moments of further charged stillness the mutt let go. Harry snapped his hand back, cradling it to his chest as he scrambled away, his robes getting tangled in his shifting legs. He continued to flee till his back stopped his movements with a thud. Oh. The Dursely's door. That's right, well suppose he'd find out if anyone was home for sure now, with all the noise he was making.

His attention snapped back to the dog, who was watching him now with it's head tilted, like he couldn't understand why he had made so quickly to get away from it. Like it _hadn't_ just tried to rip his hand off, the picture of innocence, truly. They watched each other for another tense second, Harry cautious, and still holding his _still sticky _hand, now slick with doggie saliva.

"You," Harry started, preparing himself in case he needed to flee… but the dog seemed to have suddenly lost all interest in Harry. It sat in front of him uncaringly, body shaking with the force of it's pants. Now that he wasn't being attacked Harry could examine the mutt closer. He seemed a bit overheated. And harmless. A bit lonely, with the way it sat next to him solemnly, unmoving. Swallowing his doubts Harry made a rash decision and reached out his palm, _again_, gods he really was an idiot, and gave the beast a hesitant dog gave him a sidelong glance at the touch, then shifted his weight him so he was leaning against Harry's side. "… could use a bath," he finished in a rush of words, resisting the urge to plug his nose as a waft of wet-dog hovered about him. His fingers tangled in the innumerable amount of mats in the dirty fur. The dog just continued to pant happily at his words, staring somewhere off his shoulder.

And then it noticed the abandoned cup at his side and froze, and shifted to stick in face right in front of Harry's to give him a rather pathetic case of the puppy-eyes.

"You can have it," he muttered, scooted the cup closer to the rather thin looking mongrel. It gave him a ridiculously pleased expression for something that wasn't human, and started lapping up the liquid with the air of the starving.

Not caring if any muggles saw him do something _freaky _Harry pulled out his wand started casting some cleaning and sanitizing charms on his right hand. He made a fist with it, then spread out his fingers. Urgh. Finally.

The dog sat up next to him and leaned close enough to swipe it's large tongue down the side of his face, swiping his glasses and making the left lens completely unusable. Harry yelped and again scooted away from the excited animal, landing against the door with another loud thump.

"Oh _gross_! Dammit Sirius, how many times do I have to say, that is not the proper way to convey your happiness."

He recognized his mistake immediately and the laughter in voice left. He continued to smile, however, and his petting became softer, more careful.

"You remind me of him, just a bit," Harry told it, trailing his hands along the large ears that sat high on its head. He'd said the same words to nearly every dog he came across after losing his Godfather, but he couldn't help it, they did. Maybe it was their simple nature, their loyalty. Whatever it was, Harry couldn't bring himself to get a pet dog, for it was hard for him to stay in ones presence for too long, even after all these years.

The dog huffed at him as if sensing his sudden gloomy disposition, and started snuffling Harry's collar. He chuckled, patting the long snout.

"Is it fun, being a dog? Or wolf actually, you certainty look like one," Harry mumbled. The wolf-dogs coat was medium-long in length and Harry wondered how it would like after a fresh wash, probably not nearly as scary. For a single tempting instant, Harry considered breaking into his relatives house to give the dirty beast a bath. The idea of the Dursley's coming home to a house streaked with muddy paw-prints and suds overwhelming.

And then he remembered. _Magic_.

'I don't know what possessed the ministry to make me an Auror,' Harry closed his eyes with a self-deprecating sigh, ignoring the sudden twitching in his skull.

"_Purus_."


End file.
